‘Too late,’ Imogen announced with a slightly guilty grin. ‘It’s done. I only wish I’d had my own horse out there vying with the others.’
‘Would you like to see if we can find Alençon and Cardross?’ Gabriel asked.
‘Could we?’
‘Certainly,’ Gabriel replied, amused by her awed tone. ‘That would be the perfect ending to your first race.’
Imogen jumped down from the box into Gabriel’s waiting arms. The tingle of awareness that passed between them only added to her excitement. She was having a splendid day. Gabriel set her down and took possession of her arm.
‘We’ll be back for the next race,’ Gabriel called over his shoulder to George without bothering to glance back.
He gave his nymph’s hand a squeeze and smiled down at her. He wished he could divert her to some secluded spot for an hour or so, but she was so eager to find the duke she was practically dragging him through the crowd, and he strongly doubted there was a quiet spot anywhere in the vicinity on a day like today.
Imogen was blind to the amused glances their progress was eliciting. Throughout the crowd they encountered a wide assortment of Gabriel’s friends, acquaintances, and enemies.
By the time they’d pushed their way through the crowd surrounding Alençon and Cardross the festivities were over. Imogen looked absurdly crestfallen to have missed the awarding of the prize.
‘Perhaps we will be lucky again when she runs later in the month,’ Cardross said, smiling indulgently. ‘If you care to, you shall spend the day with me, and if Aérolithe wins, you may collect the prize with your own hands.’ Imogen smiled, and eagerly accepted the earl’s invitation.
Gabriel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Cardross loved making a pet of young women who took his fancy; almost as much as Alençon did. The two had had a friendly rivalry over George since before she’d even put up her hair.
‘Cardross, my dear, dear friend,’ the duke drawled. ‘You’re going to spoil the girl. And don’t think for a minute you’re going to cut the rest of us out with such an obvious ploy.’
‘Such things have been known to work,’ the earl replied.
The duke glowered theatrically at his friend and Gabriel broke in. ‘Before either of you makes Miss Mowbray another offer that she cannot refuse, I think I shall take her out of your reach.’ He nodded to the elderly roués, and deftly turned Imogen around and led her away.
‘Somewhere towards the rear of this throng there should be mongers sent out by the various inns. Would you like a pie, or something of that kind? Or would you like to join the others at The Blue Garter?’
‘Anything we can find will be fine. I’m famished, but not picky.’
‘Beautiful and gracious.’
Imogen glanced up at him, her brows drawing together. ‘A lady can but try.’
Gabriel gave a bark of laughter. He thought he’d lost her there for a minute. She’d looked so serious and concerned. Whenever he crossed the line into flirtation she stiffened up on him. He spied a boy with a cart and waved him over. The push cart was piled high with pies, apples, cold capons, coarse farmer’s bread and a large wheel of cheese from which he was cutting slabs. Imogen took a pie and an apple, while Gabriel selected two pies, and a thick slice of bread and cheese.
They ate quickly, standing right where they were. Imogen was smiling and laughing, as happy as he’d ever seen her. He was desperately restraining the urge to kiss her. He’d been busily scouting out any quiet corner, hidden nook, or private spot, to no avail. The field was teeming with people. There were no such desirable spots available. When they’d finished their lunch, Imogen delicately wiped her hands on her handkerchief and he resignedly suggested they return to the coach.
‘The afternoon race will begin soon, we’ll want to be in place before the start.’
When they reached the coach, it was deserted save for Alençon’s groom. Gabriel, recognizing the opportunity for what it was, flipped the man a crown and sent him off.
With a suggestive smile he opened the door to the coach, and glanced from Imogen to the coach’s interior, and back again.
Imogen bit her lip and allowed Gabriel to hand her into the coach. He hopped in after her, shutting the door behind him with a decisive click. The curtains were already drawn, and the dim interior just allowed Imogen to make out his smile as he pulled her into his lap.
Imogen squeaked, and then shivered from head to toe as Gabriel’s mouth covered hers, every bit as hot and urgent as it had been in her dreams these weeks past. She could feel his straining erection pressed against her hip, and feel his hands roaming over her. He’d been dreaming of her, too, she was sure of it. With a triumphant moan she wrapped her arms around him, and returned his kiss, her tongue dancing with his.
All too soon he locked his hands onto her shoulders and pushed her gently, but firmly, away from him. One of them had to maintain some vague shred of common sense. And apparently it was going to be him.
‘The others will be back soon,’ he said. ‘Shall we play cards while we wait?’
Imogen shrugged. If he wasn’t going to continue to kiss her, she supposed cards would suffice to pass the time. He pulled a folding table out from the door panel, and fished a deck of cards out from the cubby below the seat. ‘It’s a poor substitute for what we could be doing,’ he said with a regretful smile, ‘were we not surrounded by several thousand men.’
Imogen swallowed hard and smiled back at him. It was suddenly very warm inside the coach. She shook a
